


a conflagration of arrows

by darthjamtart



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), Valdemar Series - Mercedes Lackey
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-02
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-20 02:51:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/580476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darthjamtart/pseuds/darthjamtart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles was never supposed to be a Herald.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A note on the timeline: this is AU for Valdemar starting around the Talia and Elspeth books.

**PROLOGUE**

 

There was a horse blocking his way into the Collegium. Stiles blinked at it.

 _I’m not a horse,_ it — she — said. She sounded testy. Stiles blinked again. Of course she wasn’t a horse, Stiles knew that, he grew up in Haven, he’d been around Companions his whole life. It’s just that none of them had ever _spoken_ to him before, and, okay, yeah, sometimes it was easy to forget that they weren’t actually horses.

“Uh, right. I’m late to class?” Stiles said. He got the distinct impression that the horse — Companion — was rolling her eyes at him.

 _I’m Lydia,_ the Companion told him.

“That’s...nice?” Stiles said.

 _You’re being Chosen, moron,_ Lydia said, and, okay, now she was _definitely_ rolling her eyes at him. Huh. He hadn’t realized Companions did that. This was nothing like what Scott had told him being Chosen was like. Scott had gushed about how amazing Isaac was and how it was like Isaac had looked into his _soul_ and they would be together forever, and, actually, it was kind of creepy how Scott talked about Isaac pretty much the same way he talked about Allison, with whom he was, you know, _lifebonded_ , but hey, mystical bonds! Stiles sort of figured they were all kind of the same.

“Okay. Can I go to class now?”

Lydia stamped her foot at him. _No. You have to change first. You’re the King’s Own, now. You can’t keep running around in Blues!_

Stiles looked down at himself, then glanced around at the nearby Heralds in dawning horror. “You want me to wear _white_? I can barely keep the Blues clean!” He gestured at the front of his tunic, which, sure enough, had a long stain running from just below his shoulder almost to the hip.

 _Blue isn’t even your color,_ Lydia snarled at him.

“Well, that’s just a flat-out lie. I look _awesome_ in blue.”

_Ugh, I can’t believe I’m even having this conversation with you!_

“Yeah, well, I can’t believe a horse is criticizing my fashion sense!”

“STILINSKI!”

Lydia and Stiles turned as one to see Weaponsmaster Finstock, Healer Deaton, and Herald Morell, the Dean of the Collegium, all sweeping down the steps toward them.

“I was on my way to class!” Stiles yelped. “It’s not my fault!”

Finstock was scowling, but Stiles wasn’t too concerned about that — Finstock was always scowling at him, probably because, despite Stiles’s father being the head of the Palace Guard, Stiles showed no affinity for any sort of weaponry whatsoever. Healer Deaton was smiling, and Herald Morell was, well. Herald Morell looked like she was rapidly developing a migraine.

“Really, Lydia?” Morell said, clearly trying to hold back a sigh. “The Monarch’s Own Herald should be someone mature, someone capable of grounding Scott, especially since he’s so young.”

Scott wasn’t actually King yet, but his grandmother’s death had resulted in Scott being Chosen fairly early, three years ago, at age 11. This should have set everyone’s mind at ease, having an officially Chosen Crown Prince, but Scott was, well. Scott was Stiles’ best friend, and Stiles loved him and all, but Scott wasn’t exactly the shining beacon of hope and intellectual fervor for Valdemar.

“Hey, I’m plenty mature!” Stiles objected.

“Stilinski, last month you and Scott nearly ruined six months of negotiations with the Merchants’ Guild by sneaking around Allison Argent’s chambers after midnight,” Finstock said.

“They have a lifebond!”

“They have _responsibilities_ ,” Morell snapped.

Stiles glared straight ahead, scuffing his toe against the steps. He had the odd sense that Lydia agreed with him, although she wasn’t saying anything. “I’m going to be an _awesome_ King’s Own,” Stiles grumbled, and jumped slightly, startled, when Lydia nudged up against him.

 _Of course you will be,_ she said, and Stiles grinned as the adults around them twitched, knowing she was projecting the thought at all of them, something Companions rarely chose to do. _I Chose you, after all._

 

###

 

**CHAPTER 1**

 

Stiles woke abruptly to the quickly-fading memory of blue eyes and fire. He gasped for breath before realizing that the smoke was just a dream, that his lungs were fine. Lydia, used to his odd sleeping patterns after three years, peacefully ignored him.

“Stupid Foresight,” Stiles grumbled. It wasn’t his primary gift — he was best at Fetching, although further testing had revealed a previously unrealized knack for Healing that bordered on qualifying as a gift. The Foresight was just present enough to influence his dreams on occasion, and never useful.

A glance at the window showed that it was still dark outside, but Stiles knew from prior experience that further sleep was unlikely. Pulling on a mostly-clean Herald-trainee gray uniform, he headed to the kitchens to snag some biscuits and apples to share with Lydia.

He found Lydia at the edge of the grove — _her_ grove, she liked to insist — with Jackson, Danny’s Companion, curled around her. Stiles eyed Jackson warily, edging closer to offer Lydia an apple, which she accepted gracefully.

 _He won’t bite you,_ Lydia informed him, and Stiles raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Yeah, well. History suggests otherwise.” Danny was great, everyone loved Danny, but his Companion was considerably less beloved. And Jackson did have a tendency to play a bit rougher than most of the other Companions.

Stiles plucked nervously at the grass, munching on a biscuit. He and Lydia would be heading out on their circuit soon, and then he’d be a Herald for real, Whites and all. Three years of training was a little less than usual, but with Scott close to his majority, the other Heralds were anxious to see Stiles ready to take up his responsibilities as King’s Own. Scott’s mother was a deft hand with the Council, and had kept the kingdom running smoothly for years, but she wasn’t Chosen and therefore couldn’t rule in her own right.

_Scott told Isaac to tell me to tell you that he wants to talk to you this morning. And I’m telling you that this is what the castle pages are for; stop using me as a messenger service._

“Ugh, he’s just going to tell me how pretty Allison’s hair is today, or something,” Stiles groaned, and Lydia huffed a noise that might have been agreement.

 _That is such an inappropriate use of Farsight,_ Lydia commented.

“Well, Allison _did_ agree that it was okay, as long as Scott wasn’t, like, watching while she bathed, or anything,” Stiles said, feeling a guilty urge to stick up for his best friend. Although it really was super creepy. Lifebonds, seriously. Stiles was glad he didn’t have one.

Jackson shifted against Lydia, and she turned her attention to him, nosing at his neck until he settled. Stiles clambered to his feet. “I’ll just be going, then,” he said, and Lydia flicked her tail at him in acknowledgement.

 _Don’t forget to brush me later,_ she ordered, and Stiles grinned, heading back into the palace.

Scott was waiting for him in the kitchens. “Did you already eat?” he asked, looking dismayed, and Stiles hastily brushed some biscuit crumbs off his tunic.

“No?” Stiles said, then spread his arms defensively when Scott looked crushed. “Hey, I can still eat!”

Scott’s Whites were, amazingly, neither dirty nor torn this morning. Technically, Heralds’ Whites were supposed to be stain-resistant and sturdy, but both Stiles and Scott seemed to have a knack for ruining their uniforms. Stiles at least had the consolation that his uniforms were still trainee-gray, but Scott, who’d had plenty of time to train with Isaac after being Chosen so young, had been in Whites for six months, and was constantly getting sour looks from the palace tailors.

They settled down with trays piled high with eggs, toast, sausage, potatoes, and juice. “Well?” Stiles asked, after it became apparent that Scott was more interested in stabbing his breakfast than in opening the conversation.

Scott leaned across the table, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. “I think Allison’s family is planning something.”

“Yeah?” Stiles said, unconcerned. “Probably. Her grandfather _is_ head of the Merchants’ Guild. Aren’t they _always_ planning something?”

Scott gestured dramatically, causing a chunk of potato to go flying across the room. “No, seriously, Stiles! You know how the Argents feel about Heralds and magic and basically our whole political system!”

“No,” Stiles said around a mouthful of eggs. “I’ve forgotten everything about the Argents since writing that paper on the family’s history of sabotage and treason. Please, enlighten me.”

Scott scowled at him. “You’re being sarcastic.”

“Whatever gave you that idea? Oh, shit, it’s Danny, hide me!” Stiles ducked under the table, then reconsidered and made a grab for his plate, on the off chance that Danny hadn’t spotted him yet.

“There is something wrong with you,” Scott told him. “Everyone likes Danny. That’s why he’s always getting sent out on those highly visible public service circuits.”

“Yeah, well,” Stiles muttered, trying to peer through people’s legs to see if Danny was getting closer. “I liked Danny a little too much last time he got back from a circuit.”

He couldn’t see Scott’s face, but he could definitely hear Scott choking on his orange juice. “You hooked up with Danny? And you didn’t _tell_ me?”

“You said you didn’t want to hear about other people’s sex lives when Allison was so far away! You said it made your pining that much more pathetic!”

“I never said that,” Scott said, sounding affronted.

“It was implied.”

A pair of boots stopped at the edge of the table. Stiles stared resentfully at Danny’s trouser-clad but still unfairly attractive calves, and ate his potatoes.

“Scott,” Danny said from somewhere overhead.

“Uh, hey, Danny. I was just eating breakfast. Alone. By myself.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. Subtlety was not Scott’s strong point.

“Okay, then,” Danny said agreeably. Danny had a knack for always sounding agreeable, even when he wasn’t actually anything of the sort. It was great for conflict resolution in the outlying villages, but not so great for palace drama. “I thought you and Stiles might like to know that one of the Companions just took off. Looks like we might have a new trainee soon.”

 _Laura,_ Lydia informed Stiles before he’d even finished thinking the question. _She’s young._

“Wasn’t there a Herald named Laura who died a couple years ago?” Stiles asked, forgetting that he was supposed to be hiding. He stuck his head out from underneath the table just in time to see Danny rolling his eyes. “Uh, hi, Danny. I was just, um, meditating!”

“Sure you were,” Danny said, still sounding perfectly agreeable. Stiles scowled. “Relax, Stilinski, Jackson and I are heading back out on circuit this afternoon.”

“Oh, good! I mean, uh, have an easy trip?” Stiles stared at his eggs and tried to ignore the sound of Lydia’s laughter echoing in his head. There were probably ways to have non-awkward liaisons, but Stiles hadn’t figured them out yet.

“See you around,” Danny said, and left, taking his unfairly attractive calves and everything else with him. Stiles clambered out from beneath the table to find Scott staring dreamily into space. Stiles threw a chunk of potato at Scott’s face.

“I call tell you’re watching Allison again,” Stiles muttered. “And it’s still creepy.”

“Sorry,” Scott said, not looking particularly sorry at all.


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles was almost definitely not napping in the library when Herald Boyd sat down across from him.

“So, it looks like Morell thinks you’re ready for a promotion.”

Stiles stared blearily at Boyd. “What?”

“Circuit? Riding? That thing trainees do before they can get their Whites?”

“What, now?” Stiles asked. Boyd raised an eyebrow.

“Do you have something better to do, Stilinski?”

Stiles shrugged and started gathering up his books. “I’ll pack a bag.”

Even though Stiles had known this was coming, he hadn’t managed to figure out what, exactly, he would want to bring with him. He re-packed his saddlebags four times before Lydia got fed up with his indecision and rattled off a list of what she considered the highest priority.

 _It’s a circuit, not a life sentence,_ Lydia snapped at him, and Stiles hurriedly grabbed at a few more items before heading down to the Companions’ Field. Lydia was lingering by the grove, and grumbled less than usual about being saddled with the standard Companion tack. _It’s so drab,_ she commented half-heartedly, and Stiles promised to braid some ribbons into her mane at the first waystation.

Boyd and his Companion, Erica, were waiting for them by the gate. “Ready?” Boyd asked.

“As I’ll ever be,” Stiles said, and they rode out.

The circuit got out to a quiet start. Boyd, not known for his verbosity, rode in silence, and Stiles knew from experience that Lydia would tolerate his incessant chatter in her head for only so long.

“So, where are we going?” Stiles asked Boyd, after Lydia had sharply informed him that she was talking to Erica now and maybe he should bother someone else.

“We’re doing a loop of the perimeter, north and then west, out along the Forest of Sorrow to the Pelagirs.”

Stiles shuddered. “Don’t you find the forest kind of creepy? What if we’re attacked by a pack of wyrsa?”

“I’ll see them coming,” Boyd said placidly. Right, Stiles realized -- Boyd’s primary Gift was Farsight, with a strong second Gift of Foresight. It was generally pretty hard to get the drop on him.

They made camp that night in between towns, the houses fewer and farther apart as they kept moving north.

 _I hate camping,_ Lydia said, huffing irritably while Stiles brushed her. _And Erica ate all the apples._

“I think I still have one left,” Stiles said, digging through the saddlebags until he came up with the promised fruit, only slightly bruised.

They reached the Berrybay Waystation the next night. “I’ll get the Companions settled. You check the supplies,” Boyd ordered, and Stiles set to work. Once he’d confirmed that everything was in order, he joined Boyd for their evening meal.

“Hey, you were yearmates with Herald Laura, right?” Stiles asked, once they’d finished eating.

“Yes,” Boyd said. Stiles waited for further elaboration, and when none was forthcoming, started rattling off questions.

“What happened to her? All we heard was that she died and it was all very mysterious. Lydia thinks something strange was happening, but her death was determined to be an accident, right?”

Boyd squinted at Stiles. “You hear a lot, don’t you?”

“I guess,” Stiles said. “I mean, I’m supposed to be King’s Own when Scott is officially crowned. It’s kind of my job to know things, right?”

Boyd shrugged. “I didn’t know Laura all that well. Something happened right after she was Chosen, I think -- her village was burned down or something. But she was from out-Kingdom, so the Heralds didn’t get involved.”

Stiles frowned. “Where was she from?”

Boyd got the distant look on his face that meant he was communicating with Erica. Eventually, he shook his head. “I don’t know.” He jerked his chin toward the beds. “We should turn in.”

The next morning, they started to make their way through the forest.

 _Something’s wrong,_ Lydia told Stiles, after they’d been traveling for a while.

 _Is it that we’re camping again? Because I can’t do anything about that,_ Stiles replied. Ahead of them, Erica’s tail was twitching nervously, although Boyd showed no signs of concern.

 _Don’t be stupid,_ Lydia said. _How’s your Foresight?_

 _Shitty,_ Stiles admitted, then, out loud, asked, “Hey, Boyd, can you see Scott from out here? Is he doing okay?”

Boyd hesitated, then said, “Wait a minute, I’ll check.”

Stiles fidgeted until Lydia threatened to toss him into the underbrush if he didn’t stop squirming. Boyd was frowning, brow furrowed in concentration. “That can’t be right,” he muttered, then turned to Stiles. “How well do you know Gerard Argent?”

“The head of the Merchants’ Guild? Uh, he’s yelled at me and Scott a few times. And, hey, I get that Allison is his granddaughter and he thinks he has to protect her, but she and Scott have a _lifebond,_ you know?”

“He’s talking to Scott right now,” Boyd said. “And Scott doesn’t look happy.”

Stiles snorted. “Yeah, I bet. It’s probably nothing. Thanks for checking, though.”

They rode south through the forest for several hours, stopping occasionally for snacks. “Erica gets cranky without regular meal breaks,” Boyd confided at one point, and Stiles, who’d been wondering if Erica was ever _not_ cranky, nodded politely.

Everyone was surprised when they rode into a clearing and practically stumbled over another Companion. Even Boyd. Stiles glanced at the other Herald for guidance, as if to ask, _hey, what do we do in this situation?_ and Boyd looked almost dumbfounded, which was not a look Stiles had ever expected to see on Boyd’s face.

The Companion snorted at them irritably. _It’s about time,_ she said, and Stiles almost fell off Lydia, he was so surprised to hear another Companion’s voice in his head. _Maybe you can talk some sense into him._

“Uh, talk some sense into who?” Stiles asked.

 _My Chosen,_ the Companion replied, and turned to lead them deeper into the forest.


	3. Chapter 3

They followed the Companion for what seemed like hours through the forest, until at last they came to a burned-out clearing: blackened stumps of trees, ash-grey branches scattered among the brush. A man stepped out of the shadows and bared his teeth in a snarl. “Get out,” he snarled, and Boyd paused, gesturing for Stiles to do the same. The man raised his arm, and a bird swooped down, wings skimming just past Stiles’ cheek, to land on the waiting gauntlet.

“Holy shit,” Stiles said, eyes wide. “You’re a Hawkbrother.”

Boyd gave him a questioning look, and Stiles flailed, almost hitting Lydia, who took a delicate step away from him. “Hawkbrother!” Stiles yelped. “From the history books? The chronicles of Herald-Mage Vanyel, back when there were Herald-Mages?”

Boyd shrugged. “Not my favorite subject.”

_Yes, he’s a Hawkbrother,_ the Companion snapped at them. _He’s also my Chosen, and I’d very much like it if he would get his head out of his ass and go back with us to Haven!_

Stiles looked at the man. He had a very nice head. And, as far as Stiles could tell, a very nice ass.

“I’m not going to Haven,” the man said. “So you can just leave me alone.” He sat down on one of the blackened stumps in the clearing and stared moodily into the distance. The bird on his arm stared at Stiles with an unusually crazed expression, not that Stiles was an expert in communicating with birds.

“Did your Companion explain what it means to be Chosen?” Boyd asked. He looked at the Companion, who snorted.

_Of course I did. It’s not my fault he’s a stubborn, pain-in-the-ass little..._

“Yeah, okay, maybe we should all just calm down and take some deep breaths,” Stiles interrupted. “Hi,” he said, turning to face the Hawkbrother. “I’m Stiles. This is my Companion Lydia, and that’s Herald Boyd and his Companion Erica. It’s nice to meet you.”

The Hawkbrother stared at him incredulously, then said through pursed lips, “Derek. That’s Laura.”

_I can introduce myself,_ Laura said. _Unlike your bond-bird._

Derek’s forehead twitched, but he jerked his chin at the bird perched on his forearm. “This is Peter.”

Peter looked like he was about three seconds away from pecking Stiles’ eyes out. Stiles took a deep breath and plunged ahead anyway. “So, did you have a specific objection to accompanying Laura back to Haven? I mean, I’ve read that Hawkbrothers rarely leave their Vales, but this doesn’t look much like a Vale to me.” Stiles gestured at the charred remains of the foliage, then stopped, eyes widening, when Derek grew noticeably more tense. “Wait, is this a Vale? Is this _your_ Vale?” Stiles took another look around, frowning. “I have to say, the history books were really off on this one. I’ve read Herald-Mage Vanyel’s account of his time at K’Treva Vale, and it sounded much nicer than this. Uh. Not that this isn’t lovely! In its own way!”

_Stiles,_ Lydia said to him, sounding annoyed. _Shut up._

“It wasn’t always like this,” Derek muttered.

“Well, I’d hope not,” Stiles said. “What happened?”

Derek shrugged. “Fire.”

Stiles waited for Derek to expand on that, but when no further explanation was offered, he sighed and settled himself on the ground next to Derek’s blackened stump. “Are you just going to stay here forever? How long _have_ you been here, anyway? And how long has it been all, you know,” Stiles gestured at the clearing, “like this?” Derek’s bird, Peter, peered down at Stiles suspiciously, and Stiles held up his hands, trying to look as unthreatening as possible.

“K’Hale was an offshoot of K’Treva, the Vale your Herald-Mage visited, generations ago,” Derek said. “My grandparents moved a small Heartstone here, but none of their wing-sibs wanted to move so close to Valdemar’s border. Your country has an odd history with mage-craft.” Derek paused, fingers stroking lightly over the downy feathers around Peter’s neck. “There were just a few of us, and they all died when the Heartstone was shattered six years ago.”

“You’ve been living like this for _six years_?” Stiles gasped, appalled. “Why didn’t you move to another Vale?”

Derek scowled at him. “I still don’t know who was responsible for shattering our Heartstone. What if they followed me to another Vale?” He hunched in on himself a little, and Stiles thought absently that it was a moot effort, since no one with muscles that big could possibly make themselves seem particularly small.

“So why not come back to Haven with your Companion?” Stiles asked. “Maybe we could help figure out what happened.”

Derek went very still. “Because I think that what happened to the Heartstone might have had something to do with my sister being Chosen, years ago.”

“Your sister was...Chosen?” Stiles asked.

Derek nodded.

“Your sister’s...a Herald?” Stiles confirmed.

“No,” Derek said, glaring at his Companion. “My sister is dead, and somehow managed to get herself reincarnated as one of your stupid Companions.”

There was a moment of shocked silence, then Lydia stamped a hoof on the ground. _You’re not supposed to tell!_ she snapped at Laura, who tossed her mane and failed to look remotely intimidated.

“Well, that explains a lot,” Boyd remarked. He eyed Erica speculatively, and she snorted.

_Don’t look at me,_ Erica said. _I waited the appropriate number of centuries before reincarnating, and Lydia’s new. Laura’s the only Companion I know of who’s broken the rules about returning too soon._

_It was important!_ Laura insisted. _I couldn’t just leave Derek alone to figure out what happened all by himself!_

“Technically, he’s not by himself,” Stiles pointed out. “He has Peter.”

They all looked at Derek’s bond-bird, who was inspecting his own claws with an intensity that bordered on psychosis.

“Yeah, okay,” Stiles said. “I get it.”


	4. Chapter 4

They made camp for the night in the clearing with Derek. Their shared resources made for a better supper than Stiles was expecting, after the field rations that had provided most of their meals for the last few days. Laura was proving an unexpectedly chatty Companion -- most Companions spoke only to their Chosen and their fellow faux-equines -- but pointedly ignoring Derek apparently involved too much silence for Laura's taste.

"So you were one of Boyd's yearmates before you, uh, died?" Stiles asked, after they'd finished their supper.

 _We ran in different circles,_ Laura replied. _I was pretty busy trying to figure out who was responsible for murdering my entire family. Except for Derek._

Stiles looked over at Derek, who was staring gloomily at the treeline. "Did you figure anything out?"

Laura shook her head. _All I know is that someone really doesn't want Herald-Mages returning to Valdemar. And they'll kill to stop it from happening._

"Wait, you were mage-Gifted?" Stiles leaned forward, intrigued. "No one's practiced mage-craft in Valdemar since Vanyel's time."

 _No one living,_ Lydia muttered, then froze, radiating an air of guilt.

 _There are safeguards in place, meant to prevent foreign mages from working within Valdemar’s borders,_ Laura explained. _If a mage is also a Herald, the safeguards don’t apply._

“Are you still a mage?” Stiles asked. “How does that work, being, uh, reincarnated?”

Laura shook her head. _Not exactly. Companions are magical creatures, obviously, but there are rules, and I broke more of them than I was supposed to by coming back so soon._

“We rely on our Companions too much as it is,” Boyd said quietly, his gaze fixed on Erica. She huffed in response, but didn’t deny it. “As much as it might sound like a good idea to have the Companions interfere more, there’s a fine line between helping a situation and controlling it.”

Lydia snorted, and Erica turned to glare at her. Stiles couldn’t hear the conversation that ensued, but Lydia eventually settled down, tail twitching angrily.

“Forewarned is forearmed, right?” Stiles said thoughtfully. “If Laura being Chosen was the catalyst for the initial attack on k’Hale, our best bet is to return to Haven and pick up the investigation there.”

Boyd nodded in agreement. “If you were going to find answers here,” he told Derek, “you’d have found them already.”

Derek stared at them, looking lost and strangely young, blue eyes wide under his mottled brown hair. Stiles couldn’t tell how old he was, or what color his hair had been before it was dyed to blend into the forest, but Stiles guessed he couldn’t be more than twenty or so.

“All right,” Derek said, after a long moment. “I’ll go to Haven.” He hunched in on himself a little further, then muttered, “It’s not like I have anything left to lose.”

Laura kicked him with one silvery hoof, and he yelped, then glared at her. She glared right back until he mumbled an apology. Stiles rolled his eyes, then noticed Erica doing the same thing. He’d always liked Boyd’s Companion, for all that she was a bit prickly.

“In that case, let’s turn in,” Stiles said, reaching to unroll his sleeping sack. “We’ve got a long ride ahead of us tomorrow.”

###

Stiles slept badly, and choked into wakefulness with the dream of smoke clogging his lungs. _Foresight?_ he wondered grimly, and shared a considering look with Lydia.

 _That looks like the palace,_ Lydia said, after he shared the remnants of his dream with her. Stiles nodded, and shot a questioning look at the still-sleeping Boyd. Lydia shook her head. No sense worrying the other Herald over what could turn out to be nothing.

They rode quietly for the better part of the morning, Stiles still caught in the nagging unease caused by his dream, and Boyd not the most talkative person in general. Derek seemed even less inclined toward conversation than he had the day before, if that were possible.

By the time they broke for a midday meal, Stiles couldn’t stand it anymore. “So what sort of gift do you have?” Stiles asked Derek, who was chewing sullenly on something that looked much better than Stiles’ own field rations.

Derek scowled down at his feet and took another bite of whatever he was eating. _He’s mage-gifted, like I was,_ Laura answered for him. _And he’s got a bit of--_

“Don’t,” Derek interrupted, swallowing hastily. “Laura, please.”

Laura eyed him suspiciously, then sighed. Whatever she said next must have been for Derek’s mind alone, because he visibly relaxed.

“Well, now I _really_ want to know,” Stiles remarked, but no one answered. “Anyway, it’s not like anyone at Haven will be able to help you with mage-craft,” he continued.

“I’ve been practicing magic all my life,” Derek said. He looked a bit smug, actually, and Stiles narrowed his eyes at him. “My hair was white by the time I was ten.”

 _Barely,_ Laura responded, voice tart in Stiles’ head, and he choked back a laugh. _Living in a Vale bleaches the hair and eyes of all the Tayledras, even those without the gift. Don’t let him make you think he’s somehow special._

Laura proved more than happy to answer Stiles’ questions about the Hawkbrothers, and the work they did healing the land, and the afternoon passed quickly. They made camp at dusk, still another full day’s ride from Haven, but now well within the heart of Valdemar. Derek’s bondbird Peter occasionally flew ahead of them, sometimes circling behind to surprise Stiles by teasing at his short hair or flicking Lydia’s tail. After the third time he’d plucked a hair from Lydia’s mane, Lydia put a stop to the game by snapping at Peter’s wing feathers as he made a low pass. Chastened, the bird returned to Derek’s arm, riding in angry silence for a while.

“I feel like we should have some sort of plan,” Stiles said the next morning, as they were preparing to ride out again. Boyd shrugged.

“Any ideas?” he asked.

Stiles frowned. “Not yet,” he said. “But we have no idea who we might be looking for, so we have no idea who to watch out for. It could be anyone. I mean, probably not a Herald, but other than that.”

“We’ll just have to keep all our senses open and ready,” Boyd said. “Look, Stiles, I know you’re still a trainee, but what do you think being a Herald is all about?”

Stiles chewed on his lip thoughtfully, remembering the chronicles he’d spent so much time poring through, the history that made so much sense in hindsight. “I just wish we knew what to prepare for,” he said at last, and Lydia murmured agreement in his head, sounding less sure of herself than Stiles had ever heard her.


	5. Chapter 5

They reached Haven just after dark, which Stiles took as an auspicious sign. The fewer people who knew of Derek’s arrival right away, the more time they’d have to investigate and prepare.

Laura had continued to ignore Derek in favor of chatting with Stiles and Boyd, telling them jokes about the Hawkbrothers that had Derek gritting his teeth against Boyd’s chuckles and Stiles’ outright laughter.

“So, Derek,” Stiles said as they passed through the gate, “how flexible _are_ you?”

Derek only glowered at him in response, hunkering down on Laura’s back.

_I don’t like this,_ Lydia said to Stiles. He followed her gaze to where Derek was hovering by Laura at the entrance to the stables. _We still have no idea who is responsible for the murder of Derek and Laura’s family, and the burning of k’Hale. Our best chance to draw them out will most likely be to use Derek as bait, and I don’t think Laura will agree to that plan._

“Maybe we don’t have to tell them,” Stiles said quietly. He tilted his head at Boyd, who appeared deep in conversation with Erica. “In fact, the fewer people who know, the better.”

_What about Scott?_ Lydia asked. _You’ve never kept anything from Scott._

Stiles looked at Derek again, studying the way the Hawkbrother’s shoulders curled forward like he was trying to make himself smaller, the unhappy set of his absurdly-handsome face. “Yeah, well, there’s a first time for everything,” he muttered.

There was no hiding Derek’s bondbird, but Stiles draped a cloak over Hawkbrother and bird both before leading them through the corridors to his room. Boyd joined them an hour later, bringing a tray of food fresh from the kitchens.

“I thought it would be better not to get the palace pages involved,” Boyd explained, and Stiles nodded.

“I’m not sure there’s anything more we can learn about Laura’s murder tonight,” Stiles said. “So I think we should focus on what happened to Derek’s Vale.” He looked expectantly at Derek, who grimaced and looked away.

“There was a fire,” Derek said, and then stared at the floor like he was done. Peter glared at Stiles and snatched a roll from the tray, claws scraping at the edge of the Stiles’ hand.

“Yeah, we’re gonna need a little more than that,” Stiles said. “Anyway, I thought the Vales were magically protected. Shouldn’t the Heartstone have prevented the fire?”

Derek shook his head. “I think the fire was tied to the shattering of the Heartstone,” he said. “I think...I think it was my fault.”

“How?” Boyd asked.

“My other gift,” Derek said, sounding like he was almost choking on the words. “No one else in the Vale had Firestarting.” He glared across the room, and Peter edged closer to his side, feathers ruffled, reflecting his bondmate’s anxiety. “When I tried to shut down the fire, the Heartstone shattered. Everyone else was killed by the backlash. I should have -- I should be dead, too. I don’t know why I’m not.”

“Okay, but someone started that fire,” Stiles pointed out. “And someone had to do...whatever to the Heartstone, to make it shatter like that. Right?”

“Who would have known about the Vale in the first place?” Boyd asked. “The Heralds have access to the archives, but we haven’t had contact with any Hawkbrothers in generations.”

“Except for Laura,” Stiles pointed out.

“We’re not exactly invisible,” Derek said. “Traders pass through the forest, sometimes. It’s not a common route -- too dangerous for most merchants.”

_Stiles,_ Lydia said. _Don’t the Argents avoid the standard merchant routes?_

Stiles chewed thoughtfully on his lower lip. When he looked up, Derek was staring at him. “Maybe we should call it a night,” Stiles suggested. “Boyd, want to have Erica ask Isaac to have Scott meet us here first thing tomorrow?”

Boyd nodded, and gathered up the tray before heading out.

“Who’s Scott?” Derek asked.

“My best friend. And the crown prince. Trust me, we’re going to need his help.”

Derek scowled. “I _don’t_ trust you,” he muttered.

“That’s the paranoid spirit,” Stiles said cheerfully. He tossed Derek a pillow and a bedroll. “We should get some sleep.”

Stiles slept badly, and woke to Derek’s face inches away from his own. He yelped, squirming back against the mattress, and Derek looked relieved.

“You were shouting,” Derek said, and Stiles took a deep breath, then another. Those were definitely Derek’s blue eyes in his Foresight dream, clouded by smoke.

“What time is it?” Stiles asked, just as someone knocked on the door.

_That’s Scott,_ Lydia told him, and Stiles opened the door just wide enough for him to grab Scott by the wrist and drag him inside, before slamming the door shut again.

“Not that I’m not glad to see you,” Scott said. “But aren’t you supposed to be out on circuit?” He caught sight of Derek, bare-chested and hair rumpled from sleep -- Stiles hadn’t even noticed, but Derek must have been woken by Stiles’ dream. “Who’s that?”

“This is Derek,” Stiles said. “He’s been Chosen, but we can’t tell anyone. I think Allison’s family is trying to kill him.”

Scott looked appropriately horrified, at least. Stiles clapped him on the shoulder. “I know,” Stiles said. “But remember, Allison didn’t choose her family. It’s going to be fine!”

Scott sagged into a chair. “You couldn’t have a normal circuit? A couple truth spells, calming some irate villagers, proving to the council that you’ll be a responsible King’s Own Herald?” Scott turned pleading eyes on him. “I need the council to think we’re responsible, Stiles!”

“Hey, your coronation isn’t for _months_ ,” Stiles said. “We have plenty of time!”

“Okay,” Scott said. He leaned forward in the chair. “Catch me up. But first,” he gestured at Derek, still lurking in the corner. “Make him put on a shirt.”

Stiles grinned. "Do we have to?"

The pillow Derek threw at him hit him squarely in the back of the head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who haven't read the Mage Winds trilogy recently, the Hawkbrothers joke goes like this:
> 
> Q: How many Hawkbrothers does it take to form a mating circle?
> 
> A: Only one, but he has to be flexible!


End file.
